The Wayward Son
by The Sand Assassin
Summary: Written for Poirot Café's Themed Writing Contest #28: Rare Pair: It's easier to run away from your problems rather than facing them straight on. Sometimes, however, you need to run in order to find clarity. Aoko runs and finds just that with the help of a stranger in a shabby old bar in a forgotten village. Aoko/Kaito


Written for Poirot Café's Themed Writing Contest #28: Rare Pair

Thank you to the amazing Taliya for betaing!

...

The first time they met, she had slapped him and tossed his drink into his face. It was not until he had reacted differently than she had expected: a guilty expression, a wry smile and possibly a heated swear where the alcohol had burned into his eyes – that Nakamori Aoko realized it was a case of mistaken identity.

She had frozen, her breath hitching in her throat in utter embarrassment and guilt, as she had fully expected to be yelled and cursed at and put into police custody for unwarranted assault.

Instead, the young man had hardly reacted: he had simply sat staring in her general direction, a drop of liquid stuck in his eyelashes that reminded her of a wet, miserable cat. He did not look angry or exasperated; rather, his expression was carefully blank but not in a way in which felt as though he was hiding a feeling behind the mask. She knew Kaito had a habit of doing that and knew the signs.

It was that which, more than anything, made the world rotate again and Aoko stepped forward, a stutter of apologies escaping her lips as she started to wipe his face with a napkin. When the napkin was too soggy to use, she started to dab is face with the sleeve of her sweater to absorb the liquid.

Her cheeks burned bright red.

Now that she had the time to observe him closer, her stomach dropped with the realization that she should have noticed that the young man was, in fact, not Kaito. Sure, their faces looked almost identical; the same slope of the jaw, a roundness of the nose and sharpness of the cheekbones. However, there was no imperfections on the nose where her childhood friend had broken it when he was six by running into a glass pane backstage during one of his father's shows, or a small scar on his forehead where Aoko had hit him with a toy shovel when they were three.

Instead, the stranger's face was flawless, as though someone had moulded it with clay and every quirk had been shaped deliberately rather than formed slowly after years of living. Secondly, his hair was cropped short, almost to the scalps and clearly blond. One of his eyes were green; the other, brown.

Aoko felt ridiculous. She had been so paranoid and angry at the thought of Kaito following her. She had told him to stay the duck away and not to follow her. She also realized that if – if Kaito saw it fit to ignore her request, she would have never noticed if he was stalking her.

"Is everything alright, Makoto-kun?" a gruff voice with restrained tension cut through her thoughts and Aoko glanced up, guilt clearly visible in her expression.

The bartender – an elderly man spouting a grey beard – relaxed marginally as he most likely stopped considering her as a threat at the remorseful expression she wore.

Her unlucky companion – Makoto – waved her hands away. "It's okay," his voice was hoarse, as though he did not spend much of his days talking.

Aoko did not know whether the sentence were directed towards her or the bartender. Perhaps both.

"I'm really, terribly sorry," she blurted out for the thirty-eighth time, her hands twitching forwards once more in order to wipe his still wet face.

Unsurprisingly, he inched away from her. "Don't worry about it."

"At least let me buy you another drink." Aoko looked at the bartender with pleading eyes, her lips quirked downwards in distress.

All hostility had evaporated from his hardened face, and he gave her a toothless grin and a nod as he turned around to fulfil her request.

The tension drained marginally out of her shoulders; at least one of the villagers would not kick her out before she could make amends. She looked back at Makoto and thrust her hand into his personal space.

"I'm Nakamori Aoko. And you can throw my glass in my face in retaliation if you'd like," she said with a large, friendly smile. Her heart fluttered in her chest as though a flock of butterflies were trying to escape. "It's only fair."

Once again, Makoto did not convey much of a reaction – no laughter, no annoyance over her childish rebuke, or a charming response, only a blank expression as though he was simply observing a poster of a messily-dressed woman.

It was not until the bartender placed another pint in front of him that he moved. He picked up the glass and tipped it in her direction for a toast.

"I'm sure he deserved it if it provoked such a strong emotion from you."

Aoko sat down on her chair with a soft 'thump', confusion rattling through her head in surprise. "Yeah, but –"

"Then don't worry about it," Makoto interrupted. "It's easy to come to the wrong conclusion when anger and grief has such a heavy grip on your mind."

Aoko's stomach dropped as coldness churned in her chest. She turned towards the bar and gripped her glass. "I'm not grieving," she spit out before biting her lip. She had not meant for that to come out with such anger and spitefulness. She was furious, naturally. Kaito – Kuroba Kaito, her best friend, neighbour, love of her life, and boyfriend for the last three years, was _Kaitou KID_ , the elusive moonlight thief whom her father had spent half his life pursuing.

She could not believe it. She knew her boyfriend had secrets – everyone did, but something as significant as this? Of course she was angry. Anyone in her shoes would have been. He had kept it since their second year in high school, and he had not told her then!

She felt betrayed – had not stayed to listen to his explanation and had left him sitting on the ugly, brown couch she adored in their shared apartment. Barely had the time to grab the keys to her car as she fled – no – as she tactfully retreated to gather her thoughts.

That had been five days and eleven hours ago. She could not count how many miles she had travelled, had simply only taken the first road out of Tokyo and had not looked back even once.

Aoko paused in her rambling thoughts. Her eyes flickered in the direction of Makoto as a jolt of surprise raked through her. Maybe he was right: perhaps she was grieving. She had lost a relationship she had loved – however, it had been built on nothing but pillars of lies. Did she really know who the man she loved was? Or had that Kaito been just another façade?

Her head dropped forwards, her bangs shadowing her face to hide the tears prickling in her eyes. She was stupid; of course she was mourning. Everything she knew about Kaito had just been a big fat lie and her throat constricted at the realization.

 _Don't cry, Aoko. You are stronger than this._

A warm hand patted her shoulder and Aoko froze in surprise, her eyes flickering back to stare at Makoto. For the first time of the evening, he looked sympathetic rather than hollow. His eyes gleamed with the same grief and she understood he had gone through something similar.

Her lips quirked upwards into a rueful smile. "That obvious, huh?"

"Only to me," he answered. The warmth of his palm felt comforting on her back.

Aoko dabbed the – still moist – sleeve of her shirt against her eyes and sniffed softly. Why was she so distraught? Something soft brushed against her chin, and she looked up to see Makoto holding a napkin. She smiled with a ' _thank you'_ and accepted it.

"So, are you hiding out here too?" she asked after a full minute of silence, feeling reassured and marginally better in the presence of a stranger she had only known for scant minutes. She did not know why she trusted him so suddenly. Perhaps a mixture of a familiar face and the knowledge they were pretty much in the same boat emotional-wise.

Makato shook his head, he grabbed his glass and took a sip of his drink. His one brown eye the only visible. She noticed a flicker of blue around the pupil and she blinked in surprise – Makoto was wearing colour contacts.

How odd.

"Not anymore, Nakamori-san. I'm done hiding."

She creased her forehead, there had been something familiar in the crushed tone of voice, as though he was trying to conceal a feeling of self-loathing. It took her only a few seconds before recognizing the familiarity – it had been the same tone Kaito had used earlier the week.

She licked her lips. Despite the guilt and reluctance of poking into his personal history, her curiosity blossomed. Makoto was an enigma – she did not even know his last name, but her skin itched with the urge to voice her query.

"Who are you mourning?"

Makoto froze, his glass half-way to his mouth. The liquid sloshed against the sides of the glass as his hand shook from the strain. A few seconds passed before he sat down the glass with a soft 'thump' without taking a sip.

"I killed a man."

Aoko reeled backwards, eyes widening in shock as she glanced around the half-full locale. When no one reacted, she leaned forward to whisper loudly as she remember his cryptic words previously.

"Are you going to turn yourself in?" she blurted out, confusion and panic churned in her stomach at the revelation. However, instead of the anger she was expecting – from meeting and witnessing another criminal's admission of guilt for the second time in a week – she felt tired. The anger and disappointment was only a hollow echo as she imagined it was Kaito sitting next to her.

Makoto's lips twitched upwards, however it was not in a smile. Rather, it was an automatic response to something that could have been considered humorous or ironic in any other circumstance. It only confused Aoko even more.

"Rest assured, I am already serving the punishment for the crimes I committed." His face fell and his eyes looked hollow as he relived the memories. "I did something terribly because I thought I was within my right. I did not have all the facts and my failure to seek the truth rather than revenge will haunt me until the day I die."

He let go of his grip on his glass to stroke a finger down his cheek and jaw. His face looked raw, a pain reflected in his eyes that she could never hope to understand. There was a story there far more complicated than she could comprehend.

Aoko lowered her eyes, it was too much to look at. Guilt waved through her again as she realized she had never given Kaito the chance to explain himself – the true story behind the mask. She should never have fled, she had hurt both of them more then she imagined. If she had – if she had loved him as much as she believed she had, then she would never have left.

She just felt tired now, worn-out and lonely. She missed how Kaito smiled every time she walked into the room. How his eyes glittered in mischief before he pulled one of his many pranks just to make her frown turn upside down. She missed her heart always fluttering in his presence even after all these years.

Nakamori Aoko was twenty-two years old, and she wanted to go home.

Now that the thought had entered her mind, she was filled with the urge – no – the _need_ to travel home. To finally confront her fears. Perhaps that was why she had left; she had been utterly terrified. What if Kaito's explanation held no real merit? That his daredevil stunts at night were nothing more than an extreme form of obtaining an adrenaline kick?

But she knew Kaito, knew he was a good man. He did never anything without a reason, and he could never be so deliberately cruel and selfish without a purpose. _Surely?_ Her Kaito, her beloved _Kaito_ , could not simply be a thief and a liar? Her heart would _break_.

"You should call him."

Aoko glanced back in the direction of her companion. He looked calmer, more collected as he gazed at her with an unreadable expression. Perhaps he had an insight she could not see. She did not give a verbal response and he did not say anything else.

She gripped after her mobile phone and turned it on – she had turned it off five days and ten hours ago. Immediately she saw a number of missed calls – three from her father, one from Keiko and two from Hakuba. There were none from Kaito.

A small smile blossomed on her lips involuntarily. Kaito knew her well, he had not pushed the matter; rather, he left her alone and come to him when she was ready. _If_ she was ready. She appreciated it greatly, however, right now, all she desired was listening to his voice again.

She stood from her chair, her finger hovering above the green 'call' button. She paused, and looked down at Makoto. She opened her mouth to tell him ' _thank you'_ for listening to her, for given her exactly what she needed, what she had looked for without knowing it for the last few days – clarity.

Instead, what came out of her mouth was; "Who did you kill?"

He did not turn as he responded, it was a half-whispered word of a name filled with anguish.

"A naïve child with the name Okuda Makoto."

She turned around, did not look back as she excited the bar. Her heart still fluttered against the ribcage of her chest. She left him to his demons; she had no claim to his story. And she was certain, from what could only be called gut instinct, that his tale was too terrible to share over a glass of alcohol with a stranger.

…

The dial tone of the phone echoed in her ears only for three seconds before it connected. There was sharp exhale of a tire but hopeful voice on the other end of the line.

" _Aoko? Is that you?"_

She considered denying it for a fraction of a second, however this was neither the time nor place for anything but a serious conversation. "We need to talk. I'm ready to listen."

 _"Of course,"_ the answer came immediately, _"just tell me where you are and I'll come to you straight away."_

Aoko looked around her for a brief minute. She stood in the parking area around the bar. There were no other lights around except for a singular streetlight in the distance. There were nothing but trees surrounding her, and for a second she wondered the same. _Where exactly was she?_

"East Okuho village," she mumbled, remembering a street sign from when she entered the town a few hours previously.

There were a silence from the other end of the line, before she heard Kaito's breathing stronger as he moved around. There were rustling of paper and she could imagine the sight of him trying to balance the phone and a dozen maps at the same time.

 _"I might be a little delayed,"_ he answered eventually, a tightness to his voice. She could not tell what emotion it hid, however she guessed it could be of both worry for her, and the dissatisfaction of not being able to get there ' _straight away'_ as he had promised a moment earlier.

She let out a silent giggle for the absurdity of the situation, and a fond smile twitched in the corner of her lips. " _Bakaito_. You stay put this time, and I'll come save you."

She ended the call and threw the phone into the passenger seat as she unlocked the car. It would be a long road home, and ample of time to consider what she would say to him when they finally met face to face again.

…

 ** _A/N: Okuda Makoto is a character from episode 521-522, and not Kudou Shinichi in disguise ^.^_**


End file.
